


You've Really Been Grand

by CitrusVanille



Series: I Do Confess, It's The Mess That Feels So Right [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Evil, Biting, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Christmas, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Possessive Harry, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: Were Harry a Gryffindor, he’d probably think this was a bad idea.





	You've Really Been Grand

Were Harry a Gryffindor, he’d probably think this was a bad idea. He’d also probably be tucked safely away in his bed, trying to sleep like a good boy, tossing and turning with the terrible fear that he wouldn’t remember to pack that last pair of socks in the morning before going home to spend the holidays merrily with his do-gooder family. And maybe it is a bad idea, snogging on a staircase in the middle of the castle the last night of term, but Harry’s enjoying it quite a lot, and that makes it a pretty fantastic idea as far as he’s concerned. He’s really glad he’s not in Gryffindor. He’d hate to have morals, or anything pesky like that.

Then again, Neville’s in Gryffindor, and Neville’s here, pressed against the banister, making soft, rough noises low in his throat, fingertips burning tracks against Harry’s skin, under the collar of his shirt. Harry figures he can put Neville’s presence down to his own influence, though, because it’s not like Neville ever did this sort of thing before. At least, Harry’s pretty sure he didn’t. Not that he cares.

Harry tightens his fingers in Neville’s hair, pulling him closer.

Neville hisses against his mouth in response, but doesn’t pull away, just bites down lightly on Harry’s lower lip in retaliation.

“Fuck,” Harry gasps into Neville’s mouth, hips jerking forward of their own accord.

“Fuck,” Neville agrees, pulling just far enough away that he’s half-panting against Harry’s jaw. He’s got one hand still tucked over Harry’s shoulder, sliding down beneath his shirt, and the other inside Harry’s open robe, untucking his shirt’s hem from his trousers, scrabbling a bit at the soft skin at the small of Harry’s back.

Harry can’t seem to make his own hands let go of Neville’s hair, even as he pushes him harder against the railing, feet planted awkwardly on two different steps. He swears again when Neville nips at his throat.

“Won’t leave a mark,” Neville says, nips lightly again, and what the fuck is he even talking about?

“What the hell, Longbottom?” Harry asks, voice a little broken and catching.

“If you were worried about it,” Neville replies, and Harry’s glad he sounds just as strung out as Harry feels.

As if Harry would be worried about something like that right now, when he’s too hot and hard to think about anything but the way Neville’s moving against him, little jerks now that Harry knows means he’s close. “Wasn’t,” he manages to say, and, “Shut up, you talk too much.” Harry really doesn’t want to talk right now, he wants to get off. Not that he ever feels the need to listen to Neville talk. He tilts Neville’s head back enough to kiss him again, harder this time than before, and that shuts them both up pretty conveniently.

And then Neville bites Harry’s lip again, not hard, but hard enough, and Harry’s done for, fingers tightening even more in Neville’s hair, gasping into his mouth as he comes, feels it when Neville follows him over.

It’s a minute or two before they calm down and separate, pulling out wands to clean up and shuffling their clothes into something resembling order. Neville’s hair looks completely ridiculous, and Harry’s fingers itch a little to settle it, but he ignores it. If Neville gets questioned, that’s his own lookout, it’s not like he’d tell anyone the truth. And it’s not as if Harry has any other reason for wanting to fix Neville’s hair. The way it screams ‘SEX!’ makes him grin a bit to himself, though, and he’s pretty sure Neville’s going to have a fairly impressive bruise on his back.

Neville raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you look just as much of a wreck as I do,” he comments, and Harry’s pretty sure he should make a witty comeback here, even as he feels himself smirking.

“But my housemates are more likely to congratulate me for it than yours are,” he points out smugly, knows it’s the truth.

Neville rolls his eyes. “Should have given you a hickey then, should I?” he asks.

Something heats up a little in Harry’s stomach. “If you want a couple yourself,” he retorts, and ignores the way the heat flares.

“Right.” Neville gives him a long look, and shakes his head, looking decidedly amused. “Have a good Christmas, Potter,” he says, before Harry can demand an explanation, and then he’s trotting away up the stairs.

Harry mutters, “You, too,” too low to be heard, but possibly a little less sarcastically than he means it to sound, and turns to head back to his own common room.


End file.
